It will have been gathered from the preceding pages that the tactics adopted by the Germans north of the Aisne were tactics designed to wear down the British force. No troops, it was supposed, could, even if they survived, withstand such an experience as that of the eight days from September 20 to September 28. Their lines pounded during all the hours of daylight by heavy shells, and assaulted during the hours of darkness by masses of infantry, the British force ought, upon every German hypothesis of modern warfare, to have been either driven back, or broken to pieces. The theory had proved unsound. To say nothing of the enormous monetary cost of the ammunition used, the attacks had turned out appallingly wasteful of life. The best troops of the Prussian army had been engulfed. In this savage struggle, between 13,000 and 14,000 British soldiers had been killed or wounded. What the losses were on the side of the Germans we do not know, for their casualties in any particular operations have not been disclosed.

If, however, their losses were on anything like the same scale as those at Mons and at Cambrai, the casualties must have been severe in the extreme. That they were severe is certain. The tactics adopted on the Aisne were not yet substantially different from the tactics followed in the earlier battles. At this stage of the campaign, the Germans still held to the principle that for victory hardly any price was too high.

Remembering at the same time that neither lives nor money are sacrificed by Germany without what is considered good cause, it becomes necessary when there are heavy sacrifices to search for the most adequate and assignable reason. In this instance, the search need not go far. After the first week of the battle, the enemy were not merely defending their stronghold, they were attempting to carry out an offensive, and that offensive had two objects. One was the scheme of operations against the left of the Allied line. The other was the recapture of Rheims.

Consider how a defeat of the British force must have affected the situation. On the one hand, it would have enabled the Germans to push back the 6th French army upon Paris; on the other, it would have compelled the French to evacuate Rheims.

Now Rheims was clearly at this time the key of the Allied position. The roads and railways converging upon the city made it an advanced base of the first importance. Driven out of Rheims, the Allies would have found their communications between Noyon and Verdun hopelessly confused. Neither reinforcements, nor munitions, nor supplies could have been brought up save by difficult and circuitous routes. A general retreat must have become imperative, and all the advantages arising from the recent victory on the Marne have been lost.

Why, then, it may be asked, did the Germans not keep Rheims when they had it? To that question there is but one answer. The Germans evacuated Rheims because they had no choice. Possession of Rheims means command of all the country between the Aisne and the Marne, because that possession also means command of the communications. From Roman times the military importance of the city has been recognised. Eight great roads converge into it from as many points of the compass. These are military roads, made originally by the Romans, and mostly straight as arrows. They are now supplemented, but in time of war not superseded, by the railways.

The occupation of Rheims by the Germans, and their forced evacuation of the place twelve days later, are two of the most notable episodes of the campaign. If there was one position where it might have been expected the French would make a stand between Belgium and Paris, it was assuredly here. The Germans looked for that opposition. The city was plainly too valuable a prize, and too important a military possession to be yielded without a struggle. Yet when the invaders came within sight of it, there were no signs of resistance. As they debouched from the highlands the splendid picture which spread before their eyes to the south-west was touched with a strange peace. Framed in its theatre of wooded hills, and dominated by the twin towers of its peerless cathedral, the lordly city, a seat of civilisation and the arts when ancient Germany was still a wilderness, seemed far removed from the scene of war. No cannon boomed from any of its surrounding forts; no trenches were anywhere visible; no troops could be seen along the distant roads. German officers swept the landscape with their field glasses. They found a military blank. Naturally, they suspected a ruse. Volunteers were called for, and a band of eighteen valiants enrolled themselves. The eighteen rode into the city. They were not molested. At the same time, another band crept cautiously up to the nearest of the outlying forts. They entered it without challenge. It was empty. Both bands came back to headquarters with the same surprising report. The French troops had fled to the last man. What better proof could there be of total demoralisation?

Now, there was a ruse, and if anything could illustrate the combined boldness and depth of the French strategy it was this. Let us see what the ruse was. To begin with, Rheims was supposed to be a fortress, but the forts, situated on the surrounding hills, and constructed after the war of 1870-71, were mere earthworks. They were not adapted to withstand modern artillery. It was part of the French plan that they should not be adapted. On the contrary, just before the German advance, the forts had been dismantled and abandoned. That measure had been postponed to the last moment, and though the invaders had their spies at Rheims, as elsewhere, they remained unaware of it.

Clearly the effect of the abandonment was a belief that the French were already, to all intents, beaten. In the Berlin papers there appeared glowing accounts of the triumph. Conversely, at all events in England among those who did not know, the French evacuation came as a shock. This was all part of the foreseen result. It not only heightened the confidence of the German armies, but it had no small influence on that fatal change of plan on their part which we may now say was decided upon at this very time. General Joffre purposely misled the enemy, both as to the power at his command, and as to his disposition of that power.

Thus it was that the Germans, unopposed, made their triumphal entry. They swept through the famous Gate of Mars, the triumphal arch built by the then townsmen of Rheims in honour of Julius CÆsar and Augustus and to mark the completion of the scheme of military roads by Agrippa. They parked their cannon along the noble Public Promenade which stretches beyond this great monument. In the square before the Cathedral, about which at that time German war correspondents went into ecstasies of admiration, the statue of Joan of Arc was ringed by stacks of German lances. Ranks of men in pickelhauben, headed by bands playing "Deutschland Über Alles," were in movement along the great Boulevard Victor Hugo. The very name now seemed a mockery. Rheims appeared helpless. Taking possession of the town hall, the invaders seized the Mayor, Dr. Langlet, and compelled him to remain up all through the succeeding night issuing the orders which they dictated at the muzzle of a revolver.[29] Nearly one hundred of the leading citizens found themselves placed under arrest as hostages. This was alleged to be a guarantee for the preservation of order. As a fact, it was intended to assist collection, both of the heavy "fine" imposed on the city, and of the extortionate requisitions demanded in kind. With the stocks of champagne contained in the labyrinth of vast cellars hollowed out beneath Rheims in the chalk rock, the German officers made themselves unrestrainedly free. The occupation degenerated into an orgie. Much wine that could not be consumed was, on the advance being resumed, taken to the front, loaded on ambulance wagons.[30] It is alleged that nearly 2,000,000 bottles of wine were either consumed, plundered, or wasted.

Every house, too, had its complement of soldiers billeted on the occupants. When they marched south to the Marne, the Germans had been refreshed with unwonted good cheer and by rest in comfortable beds.

But three days later there began to come in, both by road and by railway, convoys of wounded, and these swelled in number day by day, until every hotel and many houses had been filled with human wrecks of battle. The Cathedral, its floor strewn with straw, was turned into a great hospital. All this, however, was but a presage. Rarely has there been in so brief a time a contrast more startling than that between the outward march of the German troops and their return.

Just ten days had gone by when Rheims witnessed the influx of haggard, hungry, and dog-tired men; many bare-headed or bootless; not a few wearing uniforms which were in rags; numbers injured. The bands had ceased to play. Instead of the steady march and the imperious word of command, there was the tramp of a sullen, beaten, and battered army; a tramp mingled with shouts and curses of exasperation; and the rumble of guns dragged by exhausted horses, mercilessly lashed in order to get the last ounce of pace out of them. All day, on September 12, the tide of defeat rolled into Rheims from the south, and surged out of it by the north; but above the clash and confusion was borne the boom of cannon, growing steadily louder and nearer.

Knowing that the population of Rheims had been driven to exasperation, the Germans feared they might be entrapped in the city by street fighting. An evidence of their panic is found in the proclamation which, on the morning of September 12, they compelled the Mayor to issue. The document speaks for itself. It ran:—

In the event of an action being fought either to-day or in the immediate future in the neighbourhood of Rheims, or in the city itself, the inhabitants are warned that they must remain absolutely calm and must in no way try to take part in the fighting. They must not attempt to attack either isolated soldiers or detachments of the German army. The erection of barricades, the taking up of paving stones in the streets in a way to hinder the movements of troops, or, in a word, any action that may embarrass the German army, is formally forbidden.

With a view to securing adequately the safety of the troops and to instil calm into the population of Rheims, the persons named below have been seized as hostages by the Commander-in-Chief of the German Army. These hostages will be hanged at the slightest attempt at disorder. Also, the city will be totally or partly burnt and the inhabitants will be hanged for any infraction of the above.

By order of the German Authorities.

The Mayor (Dr. Langlet).

Rheims, Sept. 12, 1914.

Then followed the names of 81 of the principal inhabitants, with their addresses, including four priests, the list ending with the words, "and some others."

There was good reason for this German panic. These troops of the army of von BÜlow had been completely defeated. Of that no better evidence can be offered than a letter found on a soldier of the 74th German Regiment of infantry, part of the 10th army corps. The letter is of vivid human interest.

My Dear Wife,—I have just been living through days that defy imagination. I should never have thought that men could stand it. Not a second has passed but my life has been in danger, and yet not a hair of my head has been hurt. It was horrible, it was ghastly. But I have been saved for you and for our happiness, and I take heart again, although I am still terribly unnerved. God grant that I may see you again soon, and that this horror may soon be over. None of us can do any more; human strength is at an end.

I will try to tell you about it.

On Sept. 5 the enemy were reported to be taking up a position near St. Prix (north-east of Paris). The 10th corps, which had made an astonishingly rapid advance, of course attacked on the Sunday.

Steep slopes led up to heights which were held in considerable force. With our weak detachments of the 74th and 91st Regiments we reached the crest and came under a terrible artillery fire that mowed us down. However, we entered St. Prix. Hardly had we done so than we were met with shell fire and a violent fusillade from the enemy's infantry. Our colonel was badly wounded—he is the third we have had. Fourteen men were killed round me.... We got away in a lull without being hit.

The 7th, 8th, and 9th of Sept, we were constantly under shell and shrapnel fire, and suffered terrible losses. I was in a house which was hit several times. The fear of a death of agony which is in every man's heart, and naturally so, is a terrible feeling.

How often I thought of you, my darling, and what I suffered in that terrifying battle, which extended along a front of many miles near Montmirail, you cannot possibly imagine. Our heavy artillery was being used for the siege of Maubeuge; we wanted it badly, as the enemy had theirs in force, and kept up a furious bombardment. For four days I was under artillery fire; it is like hell, but a thousand times worse.

On the night of the 9th the order was given to retreat, as it would have been madness to attempt to hold our position with our few men, and we should have risked a terrible defeat the next day. The first and third armies had not been able to attack with us, as we had advanced too rapidly. Our moral was absolutely broken.

In spite of unheard-of sacrifices we had achieved nothing. I cannot understand how our army, after fighting three great battles and being terribly weakened, was sent against a position which the enemy had prepared for three weeks, but naturally I know nothing of the intentions of our chiefs.... They say nothing has been lost. In a word, we retired towards Cormontreuil and Rheims by forced marches by day and night.

We hear that three armies are going to get into line, entrench, rest, and then start afresh our victorious march on Paris. It was not a defeat, but only a strategic retreat. I have confidence in our chiefs that everything will be successful. Our first battalion, which has fought with unparalleled bravery, is reduced from 1,200 to 194 men. These numbers speak for themselves....

If the defeat had been complete, the pursuit had been relentless. The 5th French army had excelled itself. It comprised the Algerian army corps, and had been reinforced by the Moroccan and Senegalese regiments. Not only along the main roads, but along all the by-roads, and in and among the vineyards and woods, there had been ceaseless fighting. If one side is reflected by the letter of the dead German soldier, that revelation is completed by the Order issued to his troops by General Desperey when they had broken the enemy at Montmirail on September 9.

Soldiers,—Upon the memorable fields of Montmirail, of Vauchamps, and of Champaubert, which a century ago witnessed the victories of our ancestors over BlÜcher's Prussians, your vigorous offensive has triumphed over the resistance of the Germans.

Held on his flanks, his centre broken, the enemy is now retreating towards east and north by forced marches. The most renowned army corps of Old Prussia, the contingents of Westphalia, of Hanover, of Brandenburg, have retired in haste before you.

This first success is no more than a prelude. The enemy is shaken, but not yet decisively beaten.

You have still to undergo severe hardships, to make long marches, to fight hard battles.

May the image of our country, soiled by barbarians, always remain before your eyes. Never was it more necessary to sacrifice all for her.

Saluting the heroes who have fallen in the fighting of the last few days, my thoughts turn towards you—the victors in the next battle.

Forward, soldiers, for France!

Forward for France they had gone. Thus it was that, shut in their houses throughout the night of September 12, the people of Rheims heard above the uproar of the German retreat the always swelling thunder of the French guns. When morning broke the only German military still left in Rheims were the abandoned wounded, and the main streets echoed to the welcome tread of the war-worn but triumphant defenders of the fatherland.

Through the transverse gap from Rheims to Berry-au-Bac on the Aisne there is one of those wonderful old Roman roads, now a great modern highway. The road runs nearly straight as a ruler north-west to Laon. The first step taken by General Desperey was to secure this road, as well as the railway which on the western side of the gap winds curiously in and out along the foot of the hills. From Berry-au-Bac north of the Aisne the French lent most material aid to the British attack upon Craonne. South-east of Rheims they were occupied in securing the railway to Chalons, which for some twenty miles runs through the valley of the Vesle. Above Rheims this valley, in character not unlike the valley of the Aisne, but wilder, may be compared to a great crack in the plateau of the highlands. On each side are chalk cliffs, and side valleys of gravel soil covered with woods. Between the cliffs the river winds through flat meadows. Towards Rheims the valley opens out into that theatre of wooded hills in the midst of which the city is situated.

The operations of this part of the great battle resolved themselves partly into a struggle for the transverse gap; next into a gigantic combat waged from opposite sides of the theatre of hills; and lastly, into a fight for command of the upper valley of the Vesle.

Sheltered among the caves and quarries on the north-east side of the gap and of the theatre of hills, the Germans had contrived a scheme of defence works not less elaborate than those along the ridge north of the Aisne, and these defence works extended round the theatre of hills to the outlet from the narrow part of the Vesle valley, blockading both the main military road from Rheims to Chalons, and also the railway.

At the outset their reduced strength limited them to merely defensive tactics, and, as on the north of the Aisne, they steadily, and day by day, lost ground. But they then began steadily and day by day to receive reinforcements, both of men and of heavy artillery. The reinforcements of men included a reconstitution of the Prussian Guard drawn from its reserves at Berlin.

Before the end of September an immense body of additional troops had arrived at this part of the front. On the side of the French, also, strong reserves were hurried forward.

It will assist to understand the description of the operations to state first their plan and purpose both on the one side and the other, since this formed strategically the critical section of the battle.

At CondÉ-sur-Aisne, it will be recalled, the Germans held a position right on the river, and that position formed a wedge or salient jutting into the British lines east and west of it.

The fact is recalled here because it illustrates what in this campaign has proved a well-marked feature of German strategy. It has been proved, that is to say, that whenever the Germans found it necessary to resist very heavy pressure they seized some point capable of obstinate defence, and, even if pushed back to right and left, kept their grip as long as possible, using the position as a general hold-up along that section of the front.

Thus their grip on CondÉ and the Chivres bluff was essential to their retention of the Aisne ridge.

They had a similar position at Prunay on the railway between Rheims and Chalons. The village of Prunay is at the point where the theatre of hills narrows into the upper valley of the Vesle. The position jutted out like an angle from the German line, and it commanded the valley.

Figuratively taking these positions of CondÉ-sur-Aisne on the one side and Prunay on the other, we may imagine the German army like a man clinging to a couple of posts or railings and so defying the effort to move him.

That is the aspect of the matter so far as defensive tactics go. For offensive tactics grip on such positions is obviously a great aid to pressure on a hostile line lying between them. A military salient serves exactly the same purpose as a wedge. It is a device for splitting the opposition. Here, then, were two wedges in the Allied front, and the object was manifestly to break off the part of the front intervening. On that part of the front with Rheims as its main advanced base the Allied line, all the way round from beyond Noyon to Verdun, structurally depended.

Such was the German scheme. But the Allies on their part had a wedge or salient driven into the German front at Craonne, and as they were there two-thirds of the way along the road from Rheims to Laon, the main advanced base and communication centre of the German line, that salient was extremely awkward. They were intent, on their part, in hammering in their wedge, because it meant a collapse of the whole German right flank from the Aisne ridge to the Belgian frontier.

It is not difficult, therefore, to understand the fury of the resulting struggle. The best troops on both sides were engaged. In point of magnitude the fighting round Rheims was hardly less than the fighting which occurred later round Ypres.

The struggle in its acute phase lasted for fifteen days and nights without the slightest pause or intermission. In the tracks of the German retreat from the Marne great gaps among the vineyards, where rose mounds of earth, marked the common graves of the slain. Along the boundaries of woods appeared the blackened sites of the hecatombs. Nevertheless, many of the fallen still lay in the woods or among the vines, unburied and infecting the air. Through this country and these scenes marched the reinforcements of the 5th French army. In the opposite direction flowed a ceaseless stream of civilian fugitives—poor people carrying their few personal belongings strapped on their backs, or pushing them along in wheelbarrows; women carrying children in their arms, and with other children trailing at their skirts; a procession on foot and in vehicles of every sort.

Against Rheims the Germans employed much of the artillery and material and apparatus they had intended for the siege of Paris. On the eastern side of the theatre of hills behind the advanced island mass where stand the villages of Berru and Nogent l'Abbesse, they had mounted their huge mortars. From these positions and from others to the north-east they threw into Rheims an incessant crash of monster shells. Viewed from any of the villages of its circumference, this theatre of hills ten miles across presented during these days a spectacle at once grandiose and awful. The battle spread out round and below like a panorama of fire. Out of advanced positions among the woods on the south-west, across by Rheims, and to the north, hundreds of the French field guns searched the German positions with their terrible high explosive shells. At brief regular intervals amid the angry roar arose a deep resounding boom—the note of the enemy's great howitzers. The earth shook beneath the salvoes, for the French had also massed here their heaviest artillery. Amid the flash of bursting shells appeared here a village, there a mill a mass of flames, with the smoke drifting above it in a dense cloud. The roar was that of hurricane and earthquake rolled into one. And the uproar went on without ceasing through all the hours of daylight, and far into the night.

Furious and destructive as it was, however, the artillery duel was not the deadliest part. The great slaughter occurred when the armies came to grips. The Germans launched an attack upon Rheims from the north and an attack at the same time from the south-east. Of the first attack the immediate objective was the suburb of La Neuvillette. That place is on the great road from Rheims to Berry-au-Bac, and if it could be seized the French positions along the transverse gap would be endangered, and their position at Craonne made untenable. The immediate objective of the second attack was the fort of La Pompelle, commanding the great road to Chalons. To the French both communications were vital.

In the attack upon La Neuvillette the troops employed were the re-formed Prussian Guard. Over 40,000 strong, men for the most part in the prime of life, and men who, though reservists, had received the highest military training, they formed probably as formidable a body of troops as any in Europe. Against them were pitted the finest of French regular infantry, including a division 20,000 strong of the Zouaves. Both sides fought with the fury of mutual hate. It was a contest in which race passion had been stirred to its depths. The Guard advanced south along the great road from Neuchatel; descended into the transverse gap; and crossed the Aisne and Marne canal at Loivre. They braved the deadly hail of the French 75-millimetre guns, than which there is nothing more deadly; they fought through the gap against charges of the Zouaves in which there was no quarter; they reached St. Thierry; they reached, after fourteen hours' continuous fighting, La Neuvillette itself—that is to say, a remnant reached it. It was a splendid feat of courage; for more than half the force had fallen. At Neuvillette, however, they were overpowered. The French troops who held that place could not be dislodged. The scenes in the streets were terrible. Meanwhile, the French had shattered the succeeding and supporting German columns, and had closed in on the rear. The Guards, finding themselves entrapped, had to cut their way out. How many again reached the German lines we do not know. It must have been very few.

At Fort La Pompelle the garrison heroically held out against a vastly superior force. The fort was stormed. Then it was retaken by the French. The order to the officer commanding was, "Fight to the last man." He fought. When the position became desperate he appealed for reinforcements. As he was sending off the message he was killed by a shell. The command devolved upon a sergeant. Relief came while the survivors of the garrison were still resisting.

To throw the relief into La Pompelle it was necessary to attack the tiers of trenches cut by the Germans along the hills as far as Prunay. The French had to cross the Aisne and Oise canal, which after passing through Rheims is joined up with the Vesle. This, in face of the German infantry fire and in face of well-concealed batteries of guns, was a desperate business. It was done not only through the dauntless courage of the French foot, but by the terrible effect of their artillery. The Germans, notwithstanding, advanced from their trenches to dispute the passage. There was a hand-to-hand battle in the canal itself—a battle to the death. The French won over; they carried the first line of German trenches; supports, regiment after regiment, were thrown across; they carried the second line; then the third; at each it was bayonet work, thrust and parry.

But the Germans still clung to Prunay. That place was the real centre of this part of the struggle. The village lies between the Rheims-Chalons railway line and the Vesle. Out of the place the enemy had to be cleared, cost what it might. It was one of those episodes in which an army puts forth its whole strength of nerve. From the wooded heights above the valley a massing of German batteries sought to wither the attack. A massing of French batteries on the nearer side strove to put the German guns out of action. The duel was gigantic. Reports of the guns became no longer distinguishable. They were merged into what seemed one continued solid and unbroken explosion. The French infantry advanced to the assault. Their losses were heavy. Prunay was set alight by shells. Still the attack was pressed. Then the ring of fire round the distant woods which marked the line of German batteries became ragged, and died down. The French guns had proved their superiority. At the point of the bayonet the Germans were driven out of Prunay and across the railway. Here they made a last stand. It was in vain. French gunners were now racing their pieces forward and opening in new positions; German batteries, on the other hand, were seen limbering up and in flight. At last, as night fell, the Germans broke in rout along the road to Beine. Prunay they had lost for good.

These were leading but only typical episodes of those fifteen days. The fighting went on, too, through the night. As daylight faded, masses of Algerian and Moroccan troops, held in reserve, crept forward, and gathered stealthily in chalk-pits or among the woods. They moved with an almost catlike tread. In these secret rendezvous they waited until the dead of night. Then in file after file, thousands of them, they stole up, invisible, to the German trenches; and in the first faint shimmer of dawn launched themselves with a savage yell upon the foe. There was terrible work among those hills.

Do these episodes throw no light on the damage done to Rheims Cathedral? Here round Rheims and north of the Aisne had been the mightiest effort the German armies had yet made. Here was concentrated the full force of their most disciplined and most valiant troops. Those troops had been sacrificed and with no result. Many storms of war had passed by the cathedral at Rheims since it was completed in 1231, and from the time when nearly a hundred more years of patient labour had put the last touches on its marvellous sculptures, and it had stood forth a thing of wonder and of beauty, no hand of violence had been laid on its consecrated stones. At the news that Prussian cannon had been turned upon it to destroy it, and had reduced it to a burned-out skeleton, from which Prussian wounded had to be carried out lest they should be roasted alive, the whole civilised world gasped.

Mr. E. Ashmead-Bartlett, who visited the cathedral while the bombardment was going on, sent to the Daily Telegraph a remarkable account of his experiences.

"Round the cathedral," he wrote, "hardly a house had escaped damage, and even before we reached the open square in which it stands it became evident that the Germans had concentrated their fire on the building. The pavement of the square had been torn up by the bursting of these 6-in. shells and was covered with fragments of steel, cracked masonry, glass, and loose stones. In front of the faÇade of the cathedral stands the well-known statue of Jeanne d'Arc. Someone had placed a Tricolour in her outstretched arm. The great shells had burst all round her, leaving the Maid of Orleans and her flag unscathed, but her horse's belly and legs were chipped and seared with fragments of flying steel.

"At the first view the exterior of the cathedral did not appear to have suffered much damage, although the masonry was chipped and scarred white by countless shrapnel bullets or pieces of steel, and many of the carved figures and gargoyles on the western faÇade were broken and chipped.

"We found no one in the square; in fact, this part of the town appeared to be deserted, but as we approached the main entrance to try to obtain admittance a curious sight met our eyes. We saw the recumbent figure of a man lying against the door. He had long since lost both his legs, which had been replaced by wooden stumps. He lay covered with dust, small stones, and broken glass, which had been thrown over him by bursting shells, but by some chance his remaining limbs had escaped all injury. This old veteran of the war of 1870, as he described himself, has accosted all and sundry at the gate of the cathedral for generations past, and even in the midst of the bombardment he had crawled once more to his accustomed post. As we knocked on the great wooden door, from this shapeless and filthy wreck of what had once been a man there came the feeble cry: 'Monsieur, un petit sou. Monsieur, un petit sou.'

"Our knock was answered by a priest, who, on seeing that we were English, at once allowed us to enter. The father then told us, in language that was not altogether priestly, when speaking of the vandals whose guns were still thundering outside, of how the Germans had bombarded the cathedral for two hours that morning, landing over fifty shells in its immediate neighbourhood, but, luckily, the range being very great, over eight kilometres, the solid stonework of the building had resisted the successive shocks of these six-inch howitzers, and how it was that ancient and priceless glass which had suffered the most.[31]

"'Monsieur, they respect nothing. We placed 125 of them inside and hoisted the red cross on the spire in order to protect the cathedral, and yet they fire at it all the same, and have killed their own soldiers. Pray, monsieur, make these facts known all over Europe and America.'

"With these words he unlocked a wicket and conducted us toward the altar, close to which stands a small painted statue of Jeanne d'Arc. The east end of Notre Dame had up to this period suffered but little, and although some of the windows were damaged they were not lost beyond repair. The light still shone through in rays of dark blue and red, broken here and there by streaks of pure light.

"Then our guide conducted us to the great cold stone body of the cathedral, where the Gothic pillars rise in sombre majesty, relieved by no ornamentation[32] until they hold aloft the blue masterpieces of the unknown artist. Here one of the strangest of spectacles met the eye. The whole of this vast vault was covered with dust half an inch thick, with chipped-off masonry, pieces of lead piping from the shattered windows, and with countless fragments of varied coloured glass. In the centre lay an ancient candelabrum which had hung for centuries from the roof suspended by a steel chain. That morning a fragment of shell had cut the chain in half and dropped its ancient burden to the hard stone floor beneath, where it lay bent and crumpled.

"A great wave of sunshine lit up a sombre picture of carnage and suffering at the western end near the main entrance. Here on piles of straw lay the wounded Germans in all stages of suffering—their round shaven heads, thin cheeks, and bluish-grey uniforms contrasting strangely with the sombre black of the silent priests attending them, while in the background the red trousers of the French soldiers were just visible on the steps outside. Most of the wounded had dragged their straw behind the great Gothic pillars as if seeking shelter from their own shells. The priest conducted us to one of the aisles beneath the window where the shell had entered that morning. A great pool of blood lay there, staining the column just as the blood of Thomas À Becket must have stained the altar of Canterbury seven centuries before.

"'That, Monsieur, is the blood of the French gendarme who was killed at eleven this morning, but he did not go alone.' The priest pointed to two more recumbent figures clad in the bluish-grey of the Kaiser's legions. There they lay stiff and cold as the effigies around them. All three had perished by the same shell. Civilian doctors of Rheims moved amongst the wounded, who for the most part maintained an attitude of stoical indifference to everything around them. We moved around collecting fragments of the precious glass which the Kaiser had so unexpectedly thrown within our reach. We were brought back to realities by hearing the unmistakable whistle of an approaching shell, followed by a deafening explosion, and more fragments of glass came tumbling from aloft. The weary war-worn Teutons instinctively huddled closer to the Gothic arches. A dying officer, his eyes already fixed in a glassy stare on the sunlight above, gave an involuntary groan. We heard outside the crash of falling masonry. The shell was followed by another, and more breaking glass. Our chauffeur came hastening in with the Virgin's broken arm in his hands. A fragment of shell had broken it off outside. We lingered long gazing at this strange scene.

"Outside the guns were thundering all round Rheims."

It was after this that the cathedral was set on fire by the shells.

[29] This incident was narrated by the special correspondent of the Berliner Tageblatt.